


There once lived a hobbit...

by just_a_mad_little_storyteller



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (not yet sure about the latter), Actual Thief Bilbo, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Alternate Universe - No One Ring, And I forgot some tags...damnit, BAMF Bilbo, Bilbo is so done with your shit, Everybody has a secret second name, F/M, Family Feels, Female Bilbo, Soul Bond, The line of Durin can't handle it, There is going to be so much sass, Those secret names are a serious thing, apart from Dis, can be a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2495261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_mad_little_storyteller/pseuds/just_a_mad_little_storyteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>.... in a hole in the ground. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms -thank you very much-, but a rather homely, comfortable and respectable hobbit-hole.</p><p>There was only one problem.</p><p>Bluebell "Bilbo" Baggins had not been a respectable hobbit lass for a very long time. Not that her neighbours knew of course. The simply thought she traveled a lot (and wasn't that alone weird?).</p><p>They never needed to know that outside of the Shire, she was -especially among dwarves- a rather infamous thief.<br/>It was good that the dwarves in return weren't aware of her being said thief, which worked quite fine for Miss Baggins.</p><p>Then she ran into a certain pair of dwarves and suddenly keeping secrets was easier said than done...</p><p>(Bilbo is so earnestly done with Fili's and Kili's shit.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A thief in Ered Luin!

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do own nothing from the Hobbit or Lord of the Rings, be it the books or movies. This right goes to J.R.R. Tolkien (and partly Peter Jackson). I plainly use the characters and setting for my complimentary fanfiction. Now (hopefully) enjoy!

Hobbits are respectable folk. They need none of those fancy things like kings, nobility or courts. The mere thought of something like _that_ makes them sniff in distaste. Fellows who believe such authority useful and irreplaceable more often than not also think, that this people have to be protected by _soldiers_. Soldiers, that also uphold law and order in their kingdoms. At such outrageous claims hobbits outright scoff!  
Who in their right mind would after all break the law and ruin their nice and comfortable life with such terrible deeds?!

No, this kind of foolishness is **not** to be found in all of the Shire. Sure there are class differences between the- by Shire standard - poor and rich, but they barely hold any significance. As long as the hobbit in question proofs to be respectable and committed to family and their duties, there is no doubt about their worth.

For a long, long time this peaceful people believed stubbornly- almost _blindly_ –in this way of life. Protected by strangers they never realized how small and weak they were, when exposed to the outside world.

Then a winter like no other came.

Snow buried everything in white.

The Brandywine River froze.

 _Wolves_ came to hunt for prey.

That the hobbits and their silent protectors could have dealt with. It was not good and times were hard, but nowhere as disastrous as they could have been.

Then the orcs came.

 

                                                                                                                ~x~

The guards of Ered Luin are **not** amused. The sound of their angry screams carries over the buzzing voices of the daily bazar. Merchants and their potential buyers, dwarves young and old alike, turn their heads to catch a glimpse of the poor soul who angered the guards of the Blue mountains _while the king of Erebor and his head of guards_ reside in the city. Near to no one is able to defy both the best of Ered Luin **and** Erebor. Even the best of the dwarven thief guilds have trouble with that.

But…

This thief is no dwarf.  
(Not that anyone knows of course.)

Though none of the dwarrows can be blamed for their misjudgment. After all there are no other creatures with the height and build of a dwarrow.  
The thief in question chuckles inwardly. Sometimes the reclusive nature of their people and the fact that even the less reclusive individuals have not traveled as far as the mountains, where Aule’s children dwell, in hundreds of years is truly an advantage!

Focusing back at the chase at hand the hunted dove right into a crowd of mothers and their children huddled together in front of a booth for toys of all kinds. Screeching they leap apart tumbling into and over each other, consequently hindering the guards to just race past. (No sane dwarf would let women and children in a distressed state behind. Not without a very good reason.) Unfortunately some have very good reasons. Especially Dwalin, head of the Ereborian guards. The elusive thief is hardly surprised by that. Master Dwalin has after all a personal problem with them since his failure to catch or _at least_ stop them from their greatest theft to date.

Screwing up their face hidden under a mask and hood they speed up, keenly aware that a dwarf with a grudge is not to be underestimated. Ever. At any time.  
This lesson has been learned years ago and never has been forgotten.

Finally the thief sees their chance and skipped over a passing cart crossing their path. They weave through the masses expertly, before reaching a convenient side alley. The dwarf like creature does not look back, as it vanishes in the shadows.

 

                                                                                                                ~x~    
                                                                                                          (Dwalin’s POV)

_Dwalin hates him._

_Dwalin, son of Fundin, brother of Balin, cousin (and best friend) of king Thorin and head of guards, has never hated a criminal so wholeheartedly._

_This time he will not get away._

_**This time** he will make the thief pay. _

_Dwalin is going to make sure of it. No one get away with stealing the-_

_The guard rounds the corner into the alley and realizes the thief is already gone._

 

                                                                                                                 ~x~

The guard man’s roar is filled with rage and would have deafened a lesser person.

It certainly makes Bilbo’s ears ring. Is that _god damn_ dwarf not able to control his volume? Sure, she has gotten away. As usual. Still there is absolutely no reason to cause such a ruckus! Even Lobelia cannot screech so loud in her worst moods!

Ignoring the _persisting ringing_ in her ears the female silently watches the remaining guards trickle into the alley. Dwalin debates with Ered Luin’s head of guards for a while. Then accepting that standing here all day will achieve nothing the guards spread out on command and leave the alley once more deserted. Bilbo observes the alley for some minutes. Only when she is truly sure there will not be someone coming back, she lets herself drop from her perch high up the wall. Unusually big feet clad in a pair of dwarven boots make no sound, as their owner lands gracefully.  
Bilbo turns to the alley’s entrance to check for her persecutors again.

She remains alone.

‘ _That was clearly not too close for my liking_.’ Bilbo thinks wryly and sinks further into the darkness. Knowing Dwalin it would be unwise to stick to the open roads. So the back alleys it is.

Moments like these make her regret her profession. Especially when Ereborians are involved. (They _might_ hate her a tiny little bit.) Normally she is able to get away **before** anyone misses the stolen goods. Not with master Dwalin though.

Otherwise, her situation could be worse. After all not a single dwarf is aware who hides beneath the thief’s hood. _By Eru_ , they think she is _male_. Well, obviously she is not. Dwarves tend to be ignorant about genders, if those are not openly displayed for them. The same goes for their inability to get the idea to look **up** for once. Just because the members of their thief guilds never climb walls, does not conclude that others are not more creative in fleeing from an uncomfortable nap in prison. Not that Bilbo complains. This way her life is much easier.

But she is not even “Bilbo”, is she?

Among few she is or has ever been. In truth her name is Bluebell Baggins, daughter of Belladonna and Bungo, Master of Bag end and proud hobbit. Outside of the Shire this name is as good as unknown. She can count the people who know on her fingers. They are some of the few she trusts without reservation. Although the name “Bilbo” is just as rarely heard outside of her home land. Yes, her trusted friends are aware (and call her by it instead of Bluebell to protect her identity), but there are also some less trustworthy- downright shady –individuals who use this name for her. For example the dwarven thief guilds.

. . .

_Fine._

_Maybe_ the name “Bilbo” is not spoken as rarely as Bluebell would like.  
(That issue might be connected to her carelessly mentioning her old nickname to a fellow thief, who had kindly saved her from a sticky situation many years ago.) Her only consolation is the lack of further information on her person. “Bilbo” is as detailed as it gets. Apart from knowledge about some of many exploits, that is. Furthermore the guards are not privy to it!

Should the latter ever come to be, a certain dwarven thief would be hunted down and forced to pay for it. Even if she possibly likes him, such a horrible slip up- not that it would be one, “Askad” is too intelligent for such a beginner’s mistake, and he alone would dare to spill it- is unforgivable among allied thieves. (She does not call him friend. She is not naïve enough anymore.)

For now Bluebell contents herself with being called simply “The Burglar” by upholders of the law and “Bilbo” by those who break it. The latter might hit too close to home sometimes, but she has long ago accepted it to be the lesser of two evils. Besides they could call her worse.  
At the moment though not getting caught is a more pressing matter.

In the end it takes her another three hours and a near run-in with guards to sneak a relatively safe distance away from Ered Luin. Bluebell will not travel back to the Blue mountains for quite a while. Being familiar with the dwarfish way of thinking she doubts showing her face around for _at least_ a year will go over well with their possessive paranoia.

Fortunately the hobbit has no need to step near stone for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah… this is the prologue.  
> I really hope you liked it and if I’d greatly appreciate a comment and if you didn’t… a well… still comment! (I really like useful critic be it good or bad ;D)  
> Askad (Khuzdul) - shadow 
> 
> Now there is only one thing to say…  
> …I will try to update soon!


	2. Of thieves and dwarf princelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go smoothly, then ceratin dwarves happen and Bluebell developes a sudden liking of kitchen backdoors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do own nothing from the Hobbit or Lord of the Rings, be it the books, movies or in songs like the one in the beginning of this chapter. This right goes to J.R.R. Tolkien (and partly Peter Jackson). I plainly use the characters and setting for my complimentary fanfiction. Now (hopefully) enjoy!
> 
> I also would like to answer the comments in the chapter notes from now one.  
> I am only writing this now, since there might be people who will wonder why the comment count for this story will be going down with this chapter.  
> I plan on deleting my answers in the comment section and write them down here instead. To me it feels like cheating, when I see the comment count go up simply because I'd like to answer the comments. (It makes me quite proud to see people like my story and comment, so I dislike pushing the count up...)
> 
> akahime4: There are more typos? Damn and I hoped I had earesed all. Ah well...  
> This will be a story with no quest of Erebor (though the whole company appears and so do orcs and most likely a dragon too). I forgot that tag at the beginning unfortunately.  
> I still hope though that you will enjoy this story anyway and I am very happy over your comment!
> 
> Stoudet:I will try to udpate regularly, but I cannot gurantee it.  
> Maybe there will be maybe not. That depends on what the final pairing will be Bilbo/Nori or Biblo/Thorin. I am not yet sure about which in to write...
> 
> Luckwearer: Maybe he, maybe he is not. You will have to wait and see ;)
> 
> SandraSmit19: Thank you very much! I will try to update soon :)
> 
> GilornethTheGold: That is nice to hear! I hoped it would be. I am already working on it :)
> 
> littlebirdy3tweet: Already in work :D
> 
> unnspired: I am glad you think so! :)
> 
> Sam: Then I will hurry and update soon! ;) like now :D
> 
> farawisa: If that is the case, I hope you will this chapter.
> 
> Roelle: Thank you :)
> 
> Timberwolf_Silver: In that case I hope I can fulfill your expectations!

* * *

 

" _Roads go ever ever on,_

_over rock and under tree,_

_by caves where never sun has shone,_

_by streams that never find the sea._

_Over snow by winter sown,_

_and through the merry flowers of June,_

_over grass and over stone,_

_and under mountains in the moon..."_

 

The words drift softly in the breeze. Actually the sound appears to curl almost  _lovingly_ around the singer before spreading out over the surrounding land. The nature relishes in the caring tone and hums along unheard.

Well,  ** _that_** is not quite right.

The singing hobbit is very much aware of the reaction she causes. Bluebell smiles contently at the answering hum. It is still rather calm and reluctant, yet she feels elated. There is no life inside a mountain apart from its inhabitants or the rare, lonely mushroom. Moreover does no plant close to the mountains react to her merry song. Only when her feet carry her closer to beloved meadows, begins the nature around her to respond. Only when tentative hum becomes a happy symphony, all songs of life uniting in harmony, Bluebell knows she is finally at home.

The only flaw in this euphoric thinking is:

She is not yet there...

There still will be at least three weeks of travel in front of her, if she does not make a surprise visit to Rivendell. The elves had had no visit from their hobbit friend in ages (and Elrohir and Elladan  _still_ deserve payback for their behavior at her last visit). The hobbit is aware the lord of Imladris and his children will always welcome her among their kind. Even if new scars mar her skin (a d there are, more often than not) or she never quite stops her wandering eyes.

The blades she can by now leave within her rooms.There had been a time, she could not even do that. Back then Bluebell had not been able to go without them for her won safety for a long time. The last homely house may had been as safe as any place in middle earth could be, but old habits died hard. Especially when they saved your life more than once. Not hard to believe considering that neither the black market nor the seedy underworld are beyond doubt everything **but**  places filled with love, laughter and unholy amounts of  _fluff_.   
In the end it had taken lots of patience and drudgery to finally let herself relax within the eleven halls.

The effort had been worth it.

The elves had been more than just pleased- and a  _tiny_ bit smug- with her display of faith.

So paying those halls a visit might turn out as a pleasant experience. Bluebell is still faintly singing the same song, while she thinks that maybe she will.

 

                                                                                            ~x~

The sky is already painted in hues of red, orange and a hint of purple, by the time Bluebell reaches the next town.

She has been here several times over the years. Not because there is something special to find here. There  _really_ is not.

Actually the town is rather plain and ordinary with its medium size, moderate wealth and low crime rate. The location allows the people to have a good amount of travelers consisting of merchants, craftsmen and others of the races of men and dwarves. Still this place is located a little off from the main roads towards the blue mountains and those, who come to stay here for a night or more, do so consciously and there often seems to be handful of travelers who simply get lost, winding up here.

Bluebell like the majority is here deliberately to stay for a night at the inn, then stock up her provisions the next day and collect Myrtle from the stables.

Myrtle is Bluebell's most trustworthy companion on the road.

Myrtle is loyal and not easily scared.

Myrtle is a lovely, kindhearted  **pony** and as far as her hobbit rider is concerned truly the best company.

Although her name actually is Myrtle, "The glorious apple thief of Buckland and conqueror of bounders".To cut a long story short:  
Myrtle had stolen farmer Maggot's apples repeatedly, led the bounders on a merry chase  _repeatedly,_  embarrassed said bounders, annoyed by this the Master of Buckland, decided only to listen to Bluebell- who had coincidentally been visiting at the time- and consequently been given her name and title, the declared at the pony of aforementioned hobbit by her cousin Primula to the chagrin of her father and brothers. (It had been their pony till then.)

Gorbadoc Brandybuck had not been amused, when his niece mentioned to visit more often, if things around here were always this entertaining.

Primula though had been delighted by the idea.

Chuckling fondly at the mental image of said cousin as a wee lass with bright, innocent smile Bluebell wanders through the streets to her first destination: the stables.

With a friendly nod she greets the stable boy who waves back accompanied by a call of "Good evening, Mister!". The hobbit lass walks past the horse boxes for short term use towards those, the stable owners rent out for months on end to the same person.

Such is Bluebell's case.

Technically that does not sound like an intelligent thing to do as a wanted thief, but the lass had long ago realized that dwarves are so set in their ways, they rarely think of act past these boundaries.  
This applies to both guards _and_ thieves. No dwarven thief would let themself  caught dead leaving this kind of clues behind, so no guard looks for them.

It serves Bluebell just fine.

Finally she stops at a green painted box and smiles at her beloved pony. Said pony turns to her in a downright lazy manner all the while chewing on some hay. Dark, intelligent eyes blink at her, before a soft snout comes up to press against her cheek. Bluebell smiles widely and strokes her fingers through Myrtle's mane. The pony neighs contently. Both rider and animal bask on the peaceful atmosphere.

A loud crash disturbs them.

A loud crash followed by even louder cursing in  **khuzdul**. _  
_

Bluebell gives Myrtle a last pat, then slips away to leave for the inn. She does feel no need to meet an angry dwarf so close to the Blue mountains.

She spends the next hour preparing her departure the next day. Afterwards the hobbit in disguise ensures her room at the inn, then settling down at a corner table by the fire. Her seat enables Bluebell to keep a close eye on the other occupants of the inn's public room. Furthermore she can observe anyone who enters though the door or leaves and sitting close to the kitchen secures her a quick escape thorugh teh kitchen's backdoor, if needed.

The thief hopes here paranoia is unfounded.  
(It usually is.)

Nevertheless Bluebell cannot help but be wary.

 Her instinct tells her something is going to go wrong and she has become too cautious to dismiss such a feeling thoughtlessly. Yet her latest escapade has been rather extraordinary with running into Master Dwalin and all, so it is not  _that_ worrisome to have a bad feeling. She  **is** still in reach of possible pursuers (not that they would ever find her). 

Pondering her predicament the hobbit nearly labels the new comers as unimportant, until a voice- a  **familiar**  voice- reaches her ears. **  
**

"You  **blood** **y** asshole."

Her eyes snap to the entrance.

"Me? Why is that? I have done you no wrong, little brother."

If her day did not just begin to go down the drain, she would have rolled her eyes at the dwarf's horribly faked tone of innocence.

"Oh yes, because toppling over laughing, when my pony threw me off and continue laughing  _every single time_ you looked at me in the past hour is ' _no wrong_ '."

Bluebell feels like blowing caution to the wind and  **run** for the backdoor. Those two spell nothing but trouble.

"Maybe there would be no reason to laugh, if you were not such a horrendous flirt with matching luck. Your pony simply tried to save you more embarrassment."

Instead of making a much desired escape Bluebell lits her pipe and tries to blend in the crowd. (it also does not hurt that smoking smothers her agreeing snort.)

"I am  _ **not**_!"

"If that thought lets you sleep at night." The older brother pats the younger one condescendingly on the shoulder. The following  _manly_ squawk of protest goes ignored.

Bluebell watches the duo make her way over to the innkeeper. She carries on with her observation throughout their whole talk with the man. only when a barmaid puts down a plate with food and a pint of ale in front of her the hobbit nodding politely at the female turns her attention to the food.  
(Though she never quite stops studying the two dwarves out of the corner of her eye. She would be a fool not to.)

While Bluebell is calmly eating her dinner, the brothers finish their conversation and turn around obviously looking for a table to sit. She relaxes back against the wall foregoing her food for closing her eyes and taking a deep calming breath. That is the moment Bluebell turns her attention away from the two dwarves for the first time. There are enough available tables to not approach hers. 

It takes her exactly thirteen seconds to curse that lapse in judgement into the deepest, darkest pit of Mordor.

She does not even see one of them turn to her, but the moment his eyes find her, she can  _feel_ it. The lingering gaze sets warning bells off. Now Bluebell  **really**  intends to flee. There are few dwarves who can recognize her by just looking at her regardless of her current appearance.

One of those is  _still_ intensely staring at her.

Bluebell opens her eyes and returns the stare in kind.

the instance she gets a good look of the dwarf and for the first time in many years actually _looks_ at him. The thief can barely refrain her smile. That fool of a dwarf seems to not have changed even a little in all those years. By the Vala, the way he tilts his head to the side, his dark brows knitted and his blue eyes bright and inquisitive has remained exactly the same. If this moment did not mean unwanted trouble, she would be delighted to meet the  _brat_ again.

Bilbo continues to watch as the younger dwarf still not turning his eyes away tucks at his older brother's sleeve. Aforesaid brother gives him a questioning look, before he follows the younger one's line of sight. He, too, knits his brows, because he does not understand what he is supposed to do. His confusion does not stop him from trailing after the younger dwarf, who is already heading towards her ignorant of his brother's puzzlement.

Both come to a halt at her table a few steps later.  
Bluebell regards them with a quizzical gaze and a raised eyebrow. A grin spreads over the little brother's face. The hobbit answers with raising both eyebrows. The grin on the other's face widens.

The older brother stares at their interaction completely out of his depth.

Neither of the three breaks the silence. At least not until the older dwarf grows increasingly uncomfortable with the lack of speech.

"Would you mind Master Dwarf, if we joined you?"

Bluebell glances at him calmly from under her hood.

"I do not, although I prefer to know the names of those, who would ask for such a thing."

Now  **both** dwarves are grinning. One has not stopped yet and one because this stranger's demand is reasonable (and a brilliant excuse to and the uncomfortable silence).

"Fili..."

"and Kili."

"At your service."

This time Bluebell actually snorts at the synchronized introduction.

the reason for her apparent amusement though is not the way they spoke, but ** _what_** they said. Have two  _princelings_ 'at your service' would amuse any thief. That is what they are after all:  
sons of Vili and  **princess** Dis, sistersons of  **king** Thorin and third or fourth in the line of succession.

This encounter is downright ironic (and troublesome).

Although in the greater scheme of things it matters not.  
(She will be gone by morning anyway)

"Sting, at yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is the next chapter, I hope you all liked it :)  
> I will try to update faster the next time! Though that should be no problem considering I know what to write this time. This chapter on the other hand kind of wrote itself... (I mean it! I didn't know all this was going to happen liek that, before I wrote it xD)
> 
> Ah well... Until the next chapter!
> 
> (Oh and I drew my version of fem!Bilbo and I wanted to know, if anyone was interested in me uploading it here? ^_^)
> 
> (who wondered over the half done chapter... I DID NOT MEAN TO UPLOAD THAT! It was an accident -_-)


End file.
